Scared to Death by Wendy Corsi Staub

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CHAPTER THREE
    A ll morning and well into the afternoon, people have been coming and going at the luxury apartment tower across the street. Deliverymen, maintenance workers, and the well-heeled residents themselves.
    Sooner or later, Marin Quinn or her daughters are bound to appear at the building’s front doors, and when they do, they’ll be easy to spot from here.
    Sooner would be much appreciated; the odor is becoming stronger as midday heat permeates the narrow alleyway between a pub and a sushi restaurant: stale beer and rancid fish. A few feet away, something scurries between the foundation and the row of metal garbage cans.
    Not a creature is stirring…
    Except for a rat.
    Make that plural. How fitting that there are dozens, maybe hundreds of the filthy rodents here, just a stone’s throw from the Quinns’ fancy doorstep.
    Fitting—and convenient.
    Undaunted by human companionship, another rat brushes past, just as the doorman across the street tips his hat to a familiar-looking female exiting the building.
    Ah, it’s her . Perfect timing.
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    â€œBut I didn’t even hear the phone ringing,” Renny protests as Elsa swoops her out of the backyard and into the house.
    â€œI did. You were too far away.” Elsa sets her on her sandy feet just inside the door and locks it behind them.
    â€œWhat are you doing?”
    â€œAnswering the phone.”
    â€œBut it’s not ringing!” Renny looks as though she isn’t sure whether to giggle or worry.
    â€œI know, I guess I missed it.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œI bet it was Daddy. I’ll call him back.” She’s already dialing Brett’s number, keeping a wary eye on the yard.
    As it rings, she sees Renny watching her. She reaches for the rainy day bin and hurriedly sets it in front of her. “Here, pick out something that you haven’t played with yet.”
    â€œBut…I’m making a sandcastle.”
    â€œI know, but—”
    â€œBrett Cavalon’s office.”
    â€œCindy, it’s Elsa.”
    â€œElsa! How are you?”
    â€œI need to talk to Brett right away. Is he there?”
    â€œHe left a little while ago for a meeting. He’ll be back soon. Do you want me to have him call you?”
    â€œPlease. Tell him it’s important.”
    â€œIs everything okay?”
    Pretending she didn’t hear the question, she hangs up and turns back to Renny. “Come on, honey, we have to run a few errands.”
    â€œBut what about the sandcastle?”
    â€œWe’ll get back to that later.”
    â€œWhat? When?” Poor thing, she looks alarmed, and no wonder. Her mother is acting crazy.
    Elsa grabs her keys from the hook by the door, along with a canvas tote bag hanging beside it. Embroidered in pink thread with Renny’s name, it’s filled with Barbie dolls and an elaborate collection of clothes, courtesy of her grandmother.
    Maman would have preferred to start a collection of antique French porcelain dolls for Renny, as she had for Elsa, but Elsa put her foot down.
    She offers the Barbie bag to Renny. “Here, take this to play with in the car.”
    â€œI don’t want that.”
    â€œBut you always take it with you when we go someplace.”
    â€œWell, I don’t want to go anywhere today.”
    â€œI know, but we have to. Come on.” Juggling the bag with her keys and cell phone as she dials it, Elsa hustles her out the door.
    Please pick up, Brett.
    The phone rings on the other end.
    Pick up!
    It rings again as she opens the back door for Renny, who reluctantly climbs in.
    â€œYou’ve reached the voice mail of Brett Cavalon…”
    Elsa’s heart sinks. “Brett, Renny and I are going…”
    Where are they supposed to go? What are they supposed to do?
    â€œâ€¦someplace,” she tells his voice mail. “I’m not sure where. Please call as soon as you get this.”
    She